


When You're Gone

by LaughterAndLies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU in which Iwaoi and Kuroken are buddies, Actually we are, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Feels, College Student Kenma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Kuroken, Eventual Iwaoi, Iwaoi figuring out life, Kuroo is gonna be comatose we're not sorry, Leather jacket Biker Kuroo, M/M, Major Character Injury, Rating May Change, Slow Build, just the sads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughterAndLies/pseuds/LaughterAndLies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an accident happened, leaving Kuroo in a coma. Kenma tries his very best to deal.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have to deal with issues of their own, also, life; in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> The title was really impromptu so it might change in the future, haha. 
> 
> This also ended up becoming much shorter than we expected. We discovered writing together was made easier and yet harder at the same time.
> 
> Sorry about Kuroo. We love him, but yes... :')
> 
> Also, if you spot anything that's supposed to be sad but turns out funny instead, blame Laughter.
> 
> Oh god.
> 
> Laughter is really indignant right now.

Kenma held his PSP in his hands, eyes glued to the screen. Even with the frigid weather and falling snow; albeit it being lesser than that morning, he was completely engrossed in the new game he got just yesterday. The loud purr of an engine rumbled in the distance, turning all heads but Kenma’s. He continued jamming the buttons as he fought the onslaught of demon mobs on his screen, oblivious to his surroundings.

The growl of the engine slowed and hummed as the matte leather-clad rider pulled up next to Kenma, looking exactly like one of those classic bikers from Hollywood films with his tinted shades and 'artfully messy' hair.

Now all he needed to complete the look was a pair of studded boots.

 “Sorry, was I late?”

The man pulled off his goggles and shook his head, causing a falling flurry of the melted snow which had accumulated in the unruly tufts of his hair. Although Kenma's eyes were still focused on his game, he could see Kuroo smirking despite the cold and not looking sorry at all. As he cleared the last few stragglers, Kenma shook his head as he saved his game, turned off his PSP and put it in a side pocket in his bag, then finally looked up. Kuroo’s smirk widened, his nose and cheeks ridiculously red. At that, Kenma couldn’t help but smile a little. He breathed warm air into his cupped hands and smushed them into Kuroo’s face. 

"You didn't wear your helmet again," he chastised in the most matter-of-fact tone.

 “Awwh, Kenma, you’re shoo shweet, thash the prysh you gotta pay for lookin' like a shtud!” Kuroo laughed, a slight tremor erupting from the depths of his chest from the sudden warmth and unexpected gesture. Kenma shoved his palms harder into his face, unrelenting.

“Mmmrrff!” Kuroo struggled, arms flailing to finally grab hold of Kenma’s wrists, pulling them off his face. He smoothly trapped his hands tight in his, gave them a little squeeze, grinning brightly throughout.

 “Let’s go.”

                          _____________

 

“Shit. Shitshitshit!” Kuroo started swearing profusely as the bike skidded and swerved at a dangerous angle towards the sidewalk. Kenma squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on Kuroo’s jacket as they sped out of control. He knew it, he knew it! They were going too fast but Kuroo just wouldn’t listen. He heard a progression of screams and shouts around him as the accident unfolded. But for a split second, all he could hear was the sound of his own blood rushing through his head, the scene around him coming to a standstill. For that belated moment, all he could wonder almost amusedly at was the matching expressions of horror all around him- comical in their exaggeration. Next thing he knew, he felt himself being violently flung out of his seat, still desperately trying to maintain his losing grip on Kuroo as they both fell on the freezing granite. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut in preparation for the moment of collision.

Yet, somehow, the impact he braced for never came. In that moment, he opened his eyes in time to see with pure clarity Kuroo beneath him, his neck snapping back against the pavement with a sickening crunch, the vulnerable back of his head lolled in a pool of red. Red, which spread on the ice rapidly, vivid and filled with warmth, blooming in the stark white of the snow, seeping and staining into it and red, just as quickly, blinded his vision which faded to pitch black relief.

He awoke to blinding lights, which flooded his vision. With a groan, he turned his head to the side to avoid the glare. That was when the pain came, as it assailed various parts of his body. Wincing, he waited for his eyes to adjust, face semi buried against the pillow.

“How are you feeling? Do I need to call the nurse…?” A gruff but concerned voice sounded from behind him. Moving with more caution this time, Kenma peeked up at the person from his pillow, as he shifted his weight gingerly.

“Hajime..?”

 

Eyebrows furrowed, he paused. Everything rushed back to him in an instant, the sound of Kuroo’s head colliding with the ground resounding in his head. And the red. God. There was so much of it.

“Kuroo!”

 

Kenma bolted upright from the bed, feeling a sudden wave of nausea and a dull throbbing at the back of his head.

“Woah! Careful there...” Iwaizumi reached out with a steadying hand.

 

“Where is he?”

Kenma croaked, eyes blown wide and a feeling close to hysteria started to bubble its way up his throat.

 

Sensing the worry bordering on a full-blown panic attack, Iwaizumi gently gripped his arm, helping him to his feet. "Here. Come on." Leaning against him, Kenma eagerly shuffled unsteadily out into the whitewashed hallways, breathing coming in short, uneven breaths as the worry and pain impaired him.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an endless maze of corridors, they reached a door labelled with a thin strip of white card in black blocky letters, ‘Kuroo Tetsurou’.

A seeming impression of permanence. Black and indelible.

Did his ward have his name labelled on the door? Was he even lying in a room? No..? There were other patients...? Iwaizumi rapped twice on the door in quick succession and slid the door open-

“Iwa-”

Oikawa cut himself short when he sees Kenma step into the room, jumping out of his chair.

“Kenma! Are you okay?” The futile question fell on an apparent set of deaf ears.

 

His eyes first took in the sleeping form in the room. Shuffling towards the bed, excruciatingly slow, the ugly feeling seemed to dissipate as he settled his eyes on Kuroo’s pale face. His features relaxed, mouth slightly agape and breathing even with the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He then fixated on the black hair which was made even more disheveled than usual with the addition of a foreign bandage wound around his head. Marring it was the same red, if not dulled and darker, in ugly patches, the sight of it all his anxiety took as a cue to possess his speech.

 

“How-” he coughed to will it away.

“How is he?” He tried again, voice tentative, on the verge of going back into hiding.

 

Oikawa flinched, making a visible effort to pretend like it was nothing. Kenma swallowed, his mouth was filled with the bitter aftertaste of fear from Oikawa’s reaction.

“Well..” Oikawa started, reluctance evident on his face. “Tell me. The truth. Please.” Kenma managed to choke out.

“It’s not for certain but-”

Oikawa took a gulp of air, “Kuroo hit his head pretty bad and he’s got a concussion and bruises and wounds and yeah, it would take some time for him to heal and the doctors can’t tell when he will wake… and what-” he broke off, “what if he _doesn’t_ wake?” The last bit came out a horrified whisper.

“Shut up Oikawa. You're rambling.” Iwaizumi shushed him with a pointed glare.

“Oh.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened as if he had just realised what he was saying. 

“Sorry, Kenma. We’ll give you uh.. some time alone with Kuroo.” They exit the room, softly sliding the door close behind them.

 

The sudden stillness seeped the news in like smoke travelling down his airways. Except instead of dissipating, it gathered in thick clouds within Kenma’s chest, likewise invading the rest of his body as it clenched tight. He looked down at Kuroo lying on the bed, looking just so unbelievably drained of color and so inanimate, even though Kuroo didn't normally bound around like Oikawa or Hinata does, Kenma never missed his action so much in that instant. He took Kuroo’s hand gently into both of his, careful to not jostle the tubes and needles sticking out of his arm splotched black and blue and scraped red in anger. He should have squeezed them back tighter when he had the chance. Kenma dropped onto his knees as he hung his head down, processing the meaning of it all. Tears came all of a sudden as he felt an empty pang in his chest which heaved quietly as the droplets hit the floor.

The silence pressed down on him, suffocating. His body was still wracked with sobs as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. The walls closed in on him. The air felt thin. He started gasping. There wasn’t barely enough oxygen to work his legs as he staggered out of the room, hands unable to work the door open and close properly. Red spots obstructed his vision.

“Wha-? Kenma? What happened?” Iwaizumi and Oikawa rushed forward together.

 

“I just want to get out of this place. I want to go home.”

 

“But- Kuroo-” Oikawa stuttered.

“Okay, let’s go.” Iwaizumi interjected.

 

“You’ve had a long day.” 


	2. Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma's depression episode.  
> Kuroo is still in a coma  
> Oikawa tries but fails so bad.  
> Adult Iwa has had enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laughter: Yay. This is at least a proper length for a chapter.
> 
> Lies: Are you really making him see squash  
> i feel like this is turning into some comedy  
> but why not just stick it there and see what happens

Slung on his shoulders was Kenma’s backpack he carried to school. Drained out and looking gaunt already, Kenma followed behind Iwaizumi to his car, Oikawa trailing hesitantly along, unable to work his long limbs into his usual pompous gait. Once Kenma climbed with some effort into the backseat of the car, he crumpled in on himself. Iwaizumi got into the driver’s seat with Oikawa next to him, and started the car. The ride to Kuroo and Kenma’s shared apartment was silent, much too silent for Oikawa’s wretched state of mind to bear. “Uh… K-Kenma? D- do you want to listen to anything in p-particular? Do- uh do you want to switch on the radio? I can do that f-for you! Yes.” Oikawa reached over and hit the radio switch, and-

 

“WHEN YOU’RE GONEEEE, THE PIECES OF MY HEART…”

 

“Shit, shit- sorry,” Oikawa cringed as he swore under his breath. He fiddled with the switch-

 

“ SQUASH 1, SQUASH 2, SQUASH…”

 

“Jesus, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi couldn't keep his mouth shut anymore and slapped his hand away. Glaring at the radio set, he turned the knob a few times, settling on the soft melodies from a classical music station. Iwaizumi liked classical music. It helped when Oikawa was in the car being his boisterous and obnoxious self. It soothed his annoyance and gave him something to concentrate on when he rambled on about stuff he didn't care about.

 

He ignored Oikawa's pout throughout the rest of the way. “B-but I was just trying to help…” Oikawa muttered with as much indignant feelings as he could muster.

 

Throughout this whole shenanigan Kenma remained silent, eyes trained on the passing streetlights. They looked like they were floating, bobbing in the air, one after another. _Squash 1, squash 2…_  He leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the car window, unconsciously seeking for some kind of relief.

 

Oikawa kept quiet, nervously glancing back at Kenma, unable to think of a way to comfort him when his own mind was a mess. These things were so sudden. They occur in innumerable and unpredictable ways, the people it hurt, the loved ones unreasonably snatched away… Sometimes it was for forever. _But not Kuroo. They can’t. Not him. Please. Not him._

  
_\---_

The car slowed to a stop and Iwaizumi cut the engine. He turned around to where Kenma’s head was still leaning against the glass, golden eyes clouded, far away as if in a memory. Clearing his throat, he caught his attention and Kenma lifted his head, slowly and painfully. Iwaizumi waited as he blinked; once, twice, until Kenma’s tired eyes found and focused on him.

 

“I called your parents to inform them of the accident but it’d be better if you updated them soon. They should be worried. I also checked with your school while you were still out, and they said they’d give you 3? 5? Days to recover.”

 

“Do you want to stay with me in the meantime, Kenma? I think it’d be better if I can be there in case the doctors missed anything and something happened, hmm?” Oikawa offered, voice uncharacteristically soft, he sounded almost unsure of himself.

 

Kenma gave a minute shake of his head, the ends of his hair barely brushing his shoulders, as if his brittle composure would come undone from just moving. He bowed slightly then picked up his backpack as he got out of the car. Iwaizumi and Oikawa said goodbye and followed him with two pairs of worried eyes as Kenma retreated into the apartment building. His steps like a clockwork toy winding down, the physical lethargy evident of his crumbling psyche.

 

He could not wait to get behind closed doors so that he can break down in peace. With much effort, he managed to lug himself and the backpack into the elevator, down the hallway that seemed too impossibly long and finally setting his eyes on the door right in front of him. The door of the apartment the both of them shared. Except now Kuroo isn't here to share it with him.

 

His fingers trembled as he rummaged through his bag for the keys and failed multiple times trying to get it into the keyhole before it fit and turned with a loud click. He could physically feel the seams of his heart slowly unraveling, fraying at the ends. Soon. He will be inside. Safe. _Safe_? He realised that he didn't know the meaning of that word anymore. Not without Kuroo here with him. Kuroo was always there, his mere presence seemed to make him put down his guard, reassuring and calming him. He made even the most impossible things feel safe. So long as he was there by his side.

 

Yanking the door open with more force than was required, he stumbled into the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him, back against the wood as he slid down into a crouch, small frame twisted in a heap of shredded consciousness. He always hated it. The emotional side of things. It was what consumed him. Hurt people. It was a thousand- no, a _million_ times more agonising than anything that could hurt physically.

 

He remembered those times, whenever he couldn't handle his anxiety or when depression threatened to pull him over the edge, Kuroo would scoop him into his arms and sit himself cross legged on the couch, the floor, the bed, wherever he found Kenma. Kenma would then automatically curl in on himself as small as he could go, hands tucked in each other against his abdomen, knees tucked against Kuroo's chest, his head tucked underneath Kuroo's chin, fitting one cheek into the crook of his neck, and finally, finally, with his strong arms Kuroo tucks Kenma safely into his embrace.

 

But he isn’t here.

 

He isn’t here.

\---

 

Kenma tried to envision himself wrapped up in those protective arms again but he can’t. The icy tendrils of the tiles were already slipping through his clothes, reaching for him. He shivered, a shudder that shook his whole body. His eyelids weighed heavily all of a sudden and pulled down over his eyes. The last thing that was on his mind was the warmth Kuroo always gave to him, unconditionally.

 

* * *

 

“Meowww-” something soft nudged at his arm, then, “MAO!” a more insistent cry for attention.

He woke with a start. He blinked the morning sun out of his vision, to see a fluffy black nose shoved right in front of his face. The intrusion moved to let out another attention seeking “Meow”. He instantly drew back and hit the back of his head against the door.  

 

“Ugh…”

 

Kenma looked down at the large black cat as he rubbed the back of his neck, a nasty crick having developed from sleeping on the hard floor without moving an inch the entire night. The cat, Chicken (he never understood why it came to be his name) stared up at him, with humour in its large golden eyes, almost like it was laughing at him. Only upon moving his hand does he notice Butter, a sleek calico kitten next to him, its eyes still closed, peacefully asleep.

Getting up, he shuffled to the kitchen and got the dry cat food, measuring out adequate amounts into two metal bowls labelled with a black permanent marker in scrawling handwriting, “Butts” and “Chickenma”. Putting the bag back, he went to the fridge to add the remainder of the canned tuna into the dry pellets, mixing them evenly with a spoon then set the bowls on the floor for the two impatient cats circling his legs throughout the entire process. He then refilled a large bowl of water for them to share.

 

He moved on to retrieve two mugs from the rack and made one of tea, with a good amount of milk, and another of coffee. Black. As he was on the way to carry them into their bedroom, he stood frozen. The events from yesterday came flooding back in a huge rush, effortlessly switching off his autopilot. He hurriedly retraced his steps to dump the cups into the sink with a crash, sending the two cats jumping in surprise. After a moment, they resumed eating, hungry from having been neglected for the previous night. Kenma walked into their bedroom and got under the unmade covers, face buried into the pillow. He inhaled deeply, the all too familiar scent of Kuroo surfacing, working its calming effect on him. Kenma immediately felt the tension drain from his body. It almost felt as if Kuroo would saunter in at any second, diving with a guffaw onto the sheets to join him for an after morning nap. He then felt the prickling sensation he was so well acquainted with crawling up his throat, constricting, forming a lump. He willed it away, taking in deep breaths and exhaling loudly, until it made the pillow warm. The heat welcome on his cheek against the cold outside and he felt himself sink back into a dreamless slumber.

 

* * *

 

The next time Kenma woke, he awoke to the loud doorbell and frenzied knocking at his door. Tempted to ignore it, he tried. But after 5 minutes of pretending there was nobody outside his door trying to tear it down, his phone started to vibrate. Opening one eye, he peered at the screen and saw “ **Tooru xoxo** ”. Resigned, he got out of the overheated covers and walked towards the source of the racket. He yanked the door open without warning. Oikawa came falling in together with it.

 

“Kenma! Are you okay?” Oikawa was in a baby blue button down with a warm sweater over it and slacks, carrying his briefcase and a bleached brown trench coat. It was his usual office wear, which meant that he came directly from work.

 

Frowning, he asked, “why are you still in yesterday’s clothes?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, Oikawa pushed past him and went into the apartment. Butter and Chicken went up to him, which he crouched down with a smile and patted them both. Straightening back up, he turned back to Kenma, who stood blankly at the door.

 

“Go get changed, Kenma. We’re going to visit Kuroo.”

 

At the name and tone, he flinched. Seeing his reaction and unkempt state, Oikawa’s features furrowed in worry and sadness. He crouched down to eye level with Kenma, who looked away, avoiding his eyes.

 

“Kenma,” Oikawa called again, softly. “You know Kuroo would hate to see you like this.”

 

The skin between his brows bunched together.

 

“You know he’s also missing you a lot.”

 

“-He can’t miss me. Not while he’s lying there _half dead_ -” he shot back, tone bitter, almost spiteful, cutting himself short before- before what? Everything was a flurry of confusion to him, day and night, right and wrong, he couldn’t tell the difference.

 

Gently, Oikawa took Kenma’s hands, “It’s going to be alright. I know you don't mean what you just said, so let’s go see him, okay? He might even be his normal self sitting up in bed and complaining about this and that already!” His shaky smile was getting brighter and more wobbly by the minute.

 

Kenma looked at their hands, then finally into his face. The face of a dear friend, who despite also feeling devastated by the whole thing, was here trying his very best to console him. He wanted so badly to believe those words, but he just couldn't.

 

Oikawa released Kenma’s hands. He realised he was holding on to them tighter than he intended to. He turned his back on Kenma and drew his phone out from his coat pocket.

“Hey Iwa chan could you please come over in around 15 minutes? I'll get Kenma ready. See you.”

 

Kenma still looked half dazed. But he heard Oikawa, and dragged himself towards the bathroom, each lead heavy step at a time. He got out exactly 15 minutes later, all washed up in a fresh set of clothes, much to Oikawa’s pleasant surprise. Kenma drew in a deep breath, “I think I’m ready to go see him…”

 

“Yeah, sure!” Oikawa nodded his head fervently.

 

At the door, Kenma paused, head tilted towards the right. With a sigh, he reached out and pulled on Kuroo’s old volleyball jacket. Color and words faded from many rounds of washing and worn threadbare thin with love. Yet, Kuroo’s scent still clung to it determinedly, as if infused in the layers from years of companionship. Kenma clutched the fabric tight against his frame that was much too small for it, drawing it close to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

The three of them obtained their visitor passes and headed up to Kuroo’s private ward.

The hospital again. Mixed feelings surged through him at the sight of the hallways, the wards, the general whiteness of the whole godforsaken place.

 

Kenma took a breath of sterility and staleness, and slid the door open. The - _beep-beep-beep_ \- of the machines an instant and constant reminder of the patient lying on the bed, fighting with each continuous beat of his heart, with each breath he sucked into his lungs. He approached the bed apprehensively, he felt conflicted, about the fact that he was lying there, still and unmoving. But he would rather see him like that than… than not being there at all. Although he knows this, it still  _hurt_.

Kuroo looked like his usual self, albeit a little washed out and drained of colour, dressed in the hospital’s mint green gown. _A color he would never wear_. Kenma sank into the flimsy metal chair placed by the bed and sat facing him. Bloodshot golden eyes staring intensely at Kuroo, as if he could make him regain consciousness with pure willpower.

 

“Wake up. Kuroo. Wake up. I need-” his voice broke. He could feel the tears forming at the back of his throat.

  _Open your eyes._

Oikawa placed a comforting hand on his right shoulder.

Iwaizumi followed suit, placing his on Kenma’s left.

 

The three of them could only hope. For the best.

 _Beep, beep, beep-_ the machines continued, unwavering.

Kuroo remained sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to Maggie Stiefvater for the non existent SQUASH SONG (The Raven Cycle)


	3. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He- Kuroo responded just now. His breathing changed.” Kenma looked at Iwaizumi with wide eyes which hope implored. 
> 
> Iwaizumi slowly reflected his look, glancing at Oikawa whose face was already blown into a grin, and smiled back at Kenma. 
> 
> “He’s here, Kenma. He’ll always be.” 
> 
> Hope was a funny thing. It took a lot of waiting and sitting around and wallowing in sympathy and tears, all the while without a single indication of Kuroo recovering to eventually and reluctantly being snuffed out. But all it took was a slight hitch in his breathing, barely a thing at all, insignificant, and hope would flare back to life instantaneously, recalled back to their side without a moment’s hesitation. 
> 
> The higher your hopes were, the harder they crashed. 
> 
> And yet, they dared to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lies: So we had this draft for quite some time. Like, even before Christmas. We're sorry. But we had so many ideas and half-baked plans haha. The title thing took like 5 seconds. I'm sorry it only works for like 3/4?? of the chapter. Lul. I need more fluff. This is so trying.
> 
> Laughter: Gosh. Tell me about it. At least we got things done haha.

Kenma was curled up on the window seat gazing vacantly out his bedroom window. It was snowing outside. His focus lost amid the falling fury of the snow, mind likewise drawing a blank, senses only taking in sensations and the quiet muted noises of the neighborhood.

 

Some days Kenma would wake up with an unbearable feeling of hollowness in his heart. He would often stare wide eyed up at the ceiling for a full minute ( _or was it for even longer?_ ), confused, wondering why he was feeling that way. The ceiling was yellow, not the soft, pastel kind of yellow normal and perfectly sane people usually pick for their walls. But a weird shade of dirty blonde with hints of dark undertones. Kuroo chose it. He always said it reminded him of Kenma whenever he saw it, and then he would give a lazy smirk the way only Kuroo could.

  _Kuroo._

 Kenma would then feel an excruciating wrench in his chest, so sudden and painful that it steals his breath away.

 

Remembering hurt. As the days passed and hope for Kuroo's awakening diminishes, maybe forgetting would be the wiser thing to do.  

 Every day that passed was a day of Kuroo remaining the same. Seemingly dead to the world. Not waking up. And everyday was the same. Dull. Dreary. _Cold._ They passed in a blur. Sometimes he would miss school for a whole week and then sometimes he would attend because it was better to suffer the tedium of lecturers who droned on and on, the line upon line upon line of words in his notes and the bright atmosphere of the sprawling campus than being cooped up in the apartment and letting the horrible _emptiness_ of it get to him.

 But going to college showed him one simple thing. While he was here stuck in this endless cycle of self pity and blame and whatnot, the rest of the world kept working, functioning as per normal. While Kuroo was asleep, everyone else who was awake had to keep moving on.

 He realised the day that Kuroo failed to wake was the day he fell back into that chasm of darkness that was his mind in which whatever thoughts went on in circles and loops and repeats, immobilising him and inconveniencing others. It made him completely helpless, stupid and needy as it pulverized his basic human functionalities. Yet, it provided an avenue of activity which jailed him of his own will and took the panic edge off of reality, creating an illusion of peace and false promises for a better time…

 For that reason, he always succumbed to it easily, and fell back on that mind game whenever things spiked his anxiety or stress levels. Texting Shouyou helped, to some extent. But he often tried to deal with it alone, or had Kuroo there to bring him back.

 

“Always.”

 

And he still did.

* * *

 

“We’re back to see you, Kuroo! Rise and shine!” Oikawa trilled in a sing-song voice.

 “We’re back.” Iwaizumi released an exasperated sigh at Oikawa’s ridiculous cheerfulness.

 Kenma trailed behind Oikawa and Iwaizumi back into Kuroo’s ward for the fifth time that week, despite feeble, unspoken protests as his mind game took claim over him again. He went over to the bedside chair and perched on the edge, uncomfortable with being able to chart the growing pale pallor of his face, the sunken cheeks and limbs which were visible without cover from the hospital gown which he also noticed had to be downsized.

 

Eyeing Kenma from the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi sighed again, quietly. From knowing Kuroo and Kenma back then from Oikawa, which he knew inevitably meant that he was going to grow close to them as realized now, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but notice and got to know of Kenma’s anxiety problems and his history with depression as they became closer. He always tried to be supportive in those periods together with Oikawa, occasionally having to retain his antics, because _God, help him_ , but without the main pillar of support which was Kuroo, all he could do was trust his own judgement and hope, _please_ , enable him to keep Kenma afloat long enough without his aide.

 

“We’ll go get breakfast from the canteen.” Iwaizumi called back as he ushered Oikawa out of the room.

 

Kenma nodded and turned back, looking down into his hands as the steady _‘beep-beep-beep’_ of the machine stole back the attention of his ears, a trance.

 “Kuroo, it’s starting again. It’s so much more difficult to handle now. Tooru helps, he helps by calling- and Shouyou too, but-”

 

He swallowed.

 

“I just feel so… so incompetent and so horrible like this. I’m so selfish and I only think about myself, and my own feelings, and everyone has to accommodate my needs and shitty temperaments and I’m just- just such a huge burden to everyone. Tooru, Hajime, Shouyou… _you_.”

 He buried his face into his hands and pressed it hard against his closed eyes, willing the threatening burn behind his eyelids away, fingers grabbing at his hair.

 There was a sudden large intake of breath and a noticeable rise and fall of Kuroo’s chest, Kenma swiftly looked up with a sharp jerk of his neck. He was on the verge of panicking, not knowing what the unexpected response meant.

 

“Kuroo?”

 

Kenma touched his arm lightly, shaking it.

 

“Kuroo...” He could not help the tinge of hope that laced his voice.

 He stood up to get closer and scrutinised his face, looking for a sign, _any_ sign of change. Oikawa and Iwaizumi walked back in just then, carrying two bags of which the smell of scrambled eggs wafted.

 

“Kenma? What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asked, putting down the bags on the table.

 “He- Kuroo responded just now. His breathing changed.” Kenma looked at Iwaizumi with wide eyes which hope implored.

 

Iwaizumi slowly reflected his look, glancing at Oikawa whose face was already blown into a grin, and smiled back at Kenma.

 “He’s here, Kenma. He’ll always be.”

 

Hope was a funny thing. It took a lot of waiting and sitting around and wallowing in sympathy and tears, all the while without a single indication of Kuroo recovering to eventually and reluctantly being snuffed out. But all it took was a slight hitch in his breathing, barely a thing at all, insignificant, and hope would flare back to life instantaneously, recalled back to their side without a moment’s hesitation.

 

The higher your hopes were, the harder they crashed.

 

And yet, they dared to hope.

 

* * *

 

He pressed his forehead against the glass, feeling the coldness of the smooth surface seep into his skin. His hands were wrapped around a warm mug as he nursed his tea.

‘ _Bzzzt- Bzzzt- Bzzzt-’_ the all too familiar sounds of his phone vibrating made him turn his head just ever so slightly in the direction of the disturbance. His forehead felt heavy, leaning flush against the window pane

 

Tooru again. He called everyday. ‘Have you eaten?’, ‘What are you doing now?’, ‘You’ve got to go to school, Kenma.’, ‘Iwa-chan was so mean to me today…’, ‘Do you think pinstripes go with checks?’ (aww wth oiks is pretty sweet) Most of the time, he didn’t answer or gave half-hearted monosyllabic responses while Oikawa rambled on. As the calls increased and his involvement in his mind game dominated, he switched off his phone. Though he knew, _he knew_ that he was destroying himself, he was hurting his friends by being mired in this state of self-pity and lethargy, it was just so hard, so difficult to pay attention when the things worth paying attention to weren’t there. He hated himself for all of it.

 

And so he had to start making amends.

 

A sliver of guilt slunk its way to the surface of his consciousness, and Kenma picked up the phone.

 

“Tooru.”

 

“Kenma! Iwa-chan and I are going to get coffee!!! Want us to get something for you? He’s going to drive, so we’ll bring it over in a bit okay?”

 

“Ugh. Coffee.” His voice was monotonous.

 

“Oh right! Then tea? They have tea too! A large variety! Let's see earl grey, darjeeling, chai-”

 

“It's fine Tooru. Can you help me get a java chip frappuccino with caramel topped with extra whipped cream?”

 

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, “-sure. Of course Kenma, anything you want!” The exuberance in his voice sounded a bit forced to Kenma’s ears.

 

“Thanks, Tooru.”

 

He hung up.

 

* * *

 

He regretted it. He never should have ordered the drink on a whim. Never should have ordered it just because it was Kuroo’s favourite, thinking that he could stomach it just because Kuroo always insisted that it was the most delicious one out of the whole menu. He never should have trusted him. Yet he would always, without fail. So he swallowed it, every mouth of that disgustingly sweet concoction, determinedly. _See what I'm doing for you?_

 

He could almost visualise Kuroo bowing over laughing at him in disbelief and great amusement. _“I can't believe you finished it. Good job Kenma!”_ The corner of his lip lifted. He rolled his eyes at himself.

 The whole time, Oikawa was goggling at him from the chair across from him, chocolate brown eyes round with amazement.

 

“Kenma! You finished it! A-are you okay?!”

 

Kenma stood up from the table, expression unchanging. He grabbed the now empty plastic cup with some amount of triumph and quiet satisfaction, smoothly chucking it into the bin beside it.

 He took a visible gulp of air and turned around, inclining his head. “Hajime, Tooru. I-I'm really sorry I was such a handful these past-” he realized that he really had no clue what day it was and what date. Time was a foreign concept to him since Kuroo… “anyway, thank you. So much. For everything you have ever done for me…” he ducked his head to the side, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

 “AW KENMA! It's okay, everything was worth it so long as you're feeling better!” Oikawa stood up, smiling a watery smile, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with a brush of his finger.

He approached Kenma and put his arms around him, cheek against the top of his head. Kenma let him. awwwwww How could he bear to push Tooru away when the whole hug was sagging with Tooru’s immense relief and happiness.

 

“Iwa chan! Group hug! Come on!!”

 

He reached out one of his long arms and grabbed hold of the sleeve of Iwaizumi's shirt, practically pulling him into the hug. But Iwaizumi let him do it too, without any complaint. He was glad and just as relieved to see Kenma finally overcome the ordeal, and the tension and worry Oikawa had built up in his system was at last released in his first genuine smile in a very long while.

 

* * *

 

The days that followed since that one sliver of hope Kenma clung to fought one of his greatest fears and dread - school, but he was still apprehensive diving back into all that work and projects which mostly required and involved _social interaction_. Surely people would start asking questions like what happened and he wasn't exactly keen about elaborating on his inner demons, much less disclosing so much about his private life. He did not need one more reason to remind himself of all that he went through, thank you very much.

 

In his family of three, Kenma was both doted on immensely and got most of what he might wish for without having to wait his turn should he have had other siblings competing to request needs from. Yet, being an only child he thus has to shoulder the full responsibility of providing for his aging parents, - having only given birth to him at a much older age than most parents did - Kenma often was troubled over his studies. He would go in many circles weighing his chances of _maybe_ pursuing his interest in game design, and _suppose_ he could get in with his current subject combination, but what were the _odds_ of getting a job at Nintendo or Square Enix?? He didn’t have confidence his interest could make up for his blatant lack of skill to bring him that far.

 

But what if… This was also a favorite topic of that mind game of his. _Was_ . In the end, Kenma resigned to the route which better ensured him a steady job in the future looking towards Accounting. Or so everyone says. He could not bear to see his parents any more disappointed with him, with how he already is, so closed in and afraid of people, or with his sexuality. He could not give them any children to carry on the family name, and he already worried them enough with his personality. At the end of the day, he could not help what he was. And he resented it _so much_.

 

Kenma let out a breathy white cloud as he stepped back out of the University gates. He closed his eyes and leant against the wall, tired and relieved from having survived the first day since he came back. His premonitions were correct, although his group mates helped clear the previous few projects, and the teachers agreed to mark Kenma on what he has already done, they started rolling out the next few projects for the next term. One or two were pretty hefty in ‘going out and doing it’, and he could feel his anxiety spike from just the briefing. Luckily he had Akaashi, who was also in the same class and even more fortunately, his group mate in these projects. Akaashi was privy to Kenma’s worries, being observant of everything, and he quickly picked up on his mute mind overdrives and fear-induced spasms.

 

He was eyeing Kenma who had closed his eyes and started deliberately trying to relax his hands to seem nonchalant about the whole public feedback thing. His palms faced down and spread, pressing hard on the detail sheet atop the table. Akaashi placed his hand on one of those hands. Kenma snapped open his eyes and looked at the hand, then Akaashi, who smiled a little in that usual way of his, reassuring and gentle.

 

“Relax. It’ll be okay, I’ll help.”

 

Kenma could then truly ease off and let go of the tension a bit. Akaashi always had that quiet confidence he admired and even envied to some extent, like Kuroo, yet with a different nuance because he was also much more reserved, and did not exude the lazy and slightly challenging brand Kuroo did.

 Kenma leant more heavily against the wall, puffing out a few more clouds as he cleared his mind from the clutter of tasks he was trying to prioritize for school. He then moved to reach into his bag for his red PSP and powered it on, resuming his game. He hadn’t gotten far on this new one.

 

It was then that it struck him.

 

The crash, all the redness, the beeps. _Kuroo_. He let out a shaky exhale. He wasn’t going to pick him up again any time soon. He stuffed his console back into his bag without saving and trudged to the bus stop.

 

* * *

 

 On the bus, Kenma’s roaming eyes landed on a painfully familiar face. It can't be. Kuroo was still-

 

He kept his eyes trained on the stranger. His head was tilted down, through black frames, he was staring intently at something on his phone. It was weird. Well, weird in that Kuroo would not wear his glasses if he wasn't studying, and so Kenma knew it _couldn't_ be him. But the shadows which fell across his face completed the illusion, making it look even more real, as it concealed the details making up the appearance of the man.

 His gelled hair was disheveled but not unruly in the way which random tufts at the top stuck up, it was a bit too curly, the strands at his fringe not sharp enough.

 

It looked almost _deliberate_ , like each strand was arranged to be just so. The untidiness was orchestrated. It wasn't the natural bed hair that could not be tamed no matter what. After several different brands of wax and four different brands of gel, Kuroo found that he should just embrace what was given to him.

After his epiphany which lasted an hour in the bathroom, he emerged with a loud slam in his wake. And proceeded to declare to Kenma with a great big smirk on his face: “Besides, nobody in the world could rock a bedhead as insane as mine and pull it off as well as I can. So there, suckers.”

 

The more he looked at the man the more it felt like his vision was clearing up. Yet, if he pretended, if he indulged in this image of Kuroo moving, breathing, he could perhaps believe- continue believing, that he could recover. That he would be back at his side again, soon, in no time at all…

 

Kenma allowed himself to be lost momentarily in that bittersweet hope, a thin smile curling his lips ever so slightly, and he closed his eyes tight and momentarily basked in the sweet glow of his memories.

 

He blinked his eyes open.

 

No. He was not and could not ever be Kuroo. He felt like an utter fool for even mistaking him for Kuroo in the first place. The two of them looked _nothing_ alike. He bit his bottom lip and ducked his head, dirty blonde strands of hair falling around his face like a curtain, closing him off from his surroundings. He just hoped he could get home soon.

 

* * *

 

 

Coming out of the hot shower he was extremely grateful for and which made him feel so much better, he hurried to dress. He did not bother to separate the things he brought to school in his bag, since he planned on doing his work there anyway.

 Walking past the wall calendar outside the kitchen, he took a double take.

 

_I should cross out the dates, but the time…_

 

“Argh, never mind.”

 

 _But it won’t even take long._  With a great sigh he picked up a marker.

 

Crossing out the many days since it was last updated, Kenma drew an ‘X’ over ‘December 22’ realizing only now after all those hazy days that Christmas was nearing. His eyes traveled to the mini Christmas tree Kuroo had bought the first Winter they had living together, setting up and decorating it without fail every holiday season since. Kuroo loved all holidays and events that required celebrating, even if it didn’t apply to him. He was the kind of person that needed the bare minimum of an excuse to celebrate. It was taxing to deal with all of his antics. But Kenma could tolerate it because, well, it was Kuroo.

 

“He’d probably get mad if he wakes up to find out he missed Christmas.”

 

He let himself chuckle a bit at the thought. Recalling the white sparseness of the walls of Kuroo’s ward, he felt a pang in his chest and bit his lip.

 

“He’d probably like to put up the Christmas lights.”

 

Kenma retrieved the lights and a cheap snow globe as an afterthought from their box of decorations sitting next to their tree, waiting eagerly to be put up. Kuroo had already lugged the stuff out of the storeroom to the living room once Halloween ended and first of December came around. Stuffing it into his bag, he half ran to the door, patting Chicken and Butter on the head before closing the door smoothly and quickly without banging it.

 

“I’ll be back in the evening, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 Walking briskly through the corridors that were all too familiar, he located and paused a bit before Kuroo’s room. That little swell of anxiety never failed to return each time he stood outside, yet also the swell of hope that perhaps he would already be awake.

 

He slid open the door, eyes slowly landing on the sleeping form Kuroo now took.

 

“Hey, I’m here.” He tiredly curved the corners of his lips up.

 

Kenma shouldered off his bag onto the floor and settled on the metal chair that now felt more comfortable than the chair at his desk at home.

 

“Hey, do you know Christmas is coming? I realized it just now when I was crossing out the dates on the calendar.” His fingers fussed with the blankets around Kuroo, tucking them tighter around his still body.

 “I know we usually put up the lights on the eve, but… since technically we’re not going to pay for the electricity here… wanna put it up early?”

 

He bent down to dig for the tangled mess, holding it up to show it to him as if to prove that he brought it. Kuroo’s steady breathing was all the answer he got. It was as much of a response as he was expecting anyway.

 

“I’ll put it up, okay?”

 

Kenma got up and sized up the wall, finding a socket at the bottom right corner but what’s the point of stringing it near the floor? He turned and his eyes fell onto the bed frame. He moved back to it and started looping the lights around the bed handles at the sides, going from one side to the other, then plugged it into the nearby socket. He hoped this was alright with the nurses.

Multi-colored lights instantly lit up around Kuroo's bed, blinking every so often to a cheerful rhythm. It sort of reminded him of Santa’s sleigh.

 

"You look ridiculous, Kuroo. Well. When are you not?” He gave another small chuckle.

 

Kenma peered down at Kuroo's face.

 

He looked as if he was smiling back at him.

 

_Wake up, Kuroo._

 

* * *

 

“Hey Iwa chan. I was thinking we could do a party.”

 

“We? As in me and you? No thanks.” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

 

“Iwa chan!! You know what I mean! And even if it were the two of us, why not?!”  Oikawa furrowed his brows and feigned a hurt expression puppies you see on cartoons use.

 

“You know I can see through all of your shit, right?” Iwaizumi raised a brow in response.

 

“Mean! Iwa chan! Mean!” His features morphed into a genuine pout.

 

“So. About that party, I promise I won't let you clean up on your own again…”

 

The both of them were at the ramen place they frequented. After graduating from college and moving on to work at their respective companies, they still made time to meet up at least once a week despite busy schedules and whatnot. They were childhood friends after all. Besides, it always seemed to take a load off of Oikawa’s chest, all the stress and worries pent up from the week forgotten and set aside whenever he got to see Iwaizumi, for reasons unclear.

 

Or rather, the reasons were better left undefined.

 

Oikawa leaned in closer towards Iwaizumi, whipping out paper and pen from his satchel. The tiny flinch he gave in response was barely noticeable to Oikawa's observant eye. _Barely_. Oikawa, being tactful as always, pretended not to see.

  
“Okay. Here's what, Iwa chan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... we decided to finally have an Iwaoi perspective chapter next! I hope it'll turn out well. As always, we hope to receive any kind of constructive feedback on our writing or on the ships themselves!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! (and waiting!!)

**Author's Note:**

> So. This chapter was done and up really fast(like in a few hours), thus it is nowhere near perfect. We'll be updating bits and pieces when we have time or something changes in our plans. (Chapter 1)
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, as we need it to plan this out better. If you have any suggestions on what direction this story should go, please drop us a comment or email, it'll be deeply appreciated. And some kudos too ;) 
> 
> Laughter: Isn't this a bit too gay?
> 
> Lies: No... what's the matter when its already gay?
> 
> never mind just ignore us


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